Was it a fantasy or was it becoming reality? Was it all in my dramatically vivid imagination or had these events actually happened? Did I dream them or act them out? Was it all simply emotional or had my physical being been involved as well?

I was getting to the stage where I wasn’t all that sure. I knew that the psychological and emotional nightmare I’d gone through just before and for some time after the final parting from my husband had done things to me. Unbalanced me a little, unsettled me and had played tricks with my feelings and thoughts. The absence of his mental stimulation, albeit in the later times of a quite negative way, the loneliness I suffered during, particularly, the first few months after the break-up and the brain wrenching thinking I’d gone through as I set out on planning a whole new life had made me very introspective. I had gone to bed many nights my head so full of worries, guilt, hopes and plans that I’d laid awake for hours my mind in a whirl. And the loss of the sex, that even up until quite near the end had certainly been frequent and, in an oddly perverse way, still exciting and stimulating, did other things to me. Despite my full resolve to finish with him there was hardly a evening and certainly never a full day when I didn’t think of him inside me, him kissing my breasts or placing his face between my legs or me feeling his erection against all parts of my body and in my mouth. That I was enormously frustrated I had no doubt although it was not a state of which I had much experience. My entire body almost continuously ached and pulsated for the touch of a man on it and my complete being and brain screamed out for the relief he would bring by giving me a total orgasm.

All these mental and physical sensations were now combining and closing in on me. In my depressed and confused state they seemed to merge fantasy into reality to a point that I was at times not sure where one ended and the other began.

Had I really spent time driving around the East End looking for likely places? Was I imagining that hidden in a suitcase securely locked so that Sarah wouldn’t find them, was the red plastic, simulated leather skirt, the black fishnet holdup stockingd and the frilly blouse that was partially see through? Was I kidding myself when I sat in my room after S had gone to bed, perhaps finishing a bottle of wine, planning it down to every detail? Living every moment, imagining what it would be like, how I’d feel doing it and after? Thinking what would he be like, how he’d react and how he’d treat me?

I’d given myself a timetable. I’m like that sometimes. When I have a big decision to make I often say to myself, “give it two or three weeks and if the idea hasn’t gone away then decide a date and then do it.” So I did that. If I still had the fantasy in mind after so much time then I would do it on such and such a date.

And I did still have it in my mind. If anything it was firmer and as that period of thinking ended so the excitement mounted and the idea took on a clearer view and my resolve became stronger. So the actual date was set for 7 days away, a Thursday night, chosen specifically for it was the City’s night out and I knew the pubs would be full with what I needed to be there.

Had I really arranged for S to spend the night at a friend’s house to give me the freedom and peace of mind to act my fantasy out? Was I actually standing in my bedroom naked taking the suitcase from the top shelf of the wardrobe? Was it in my mind that I was taking out the clothes and laying them on the bed or was the feel of the cheap plastic skirt real and strangely exciting me? Standing looking at myself in the mirror clad just in the black, fishnet holdups I could hardly make out whether they were real or whether the blatantly erotic image was me. And when I slipped the tight, short skirt on and again looked in the mirror did I know whether that was really a reflection of me, bare breasted with the vividly tarty, plastic pelmet and black net, or was that image a figment of my sexually tormented imagination.? Had I really, completely purposefully avoided pulling on any panties or bra as I did the loose buttons up on the thin black lacy bra? Was that also a reflection or was something playing tricks with my mind I wondered as I looked and worked out that others gazes would think, but wouldn’t be sure, that the full breasts that moved around and the hint of darkness under the lacy material suggested that I wasn’t wearing a bra? Still not sure whether the mirror was sending back faithful reflections or whether it was all in my mind I saw the woman sitting, crossing her legs, slowly, and I watched mesmerised as the skirt slid up her legs until beneath its hem could be made out the darker strip of her stocking tops telling whoever might be looking at that she was indeed wearing fishnet stockings.

In a daze, a dream, a flight of fantasy or maybe in vague reality it went on. Was that really the rather prudish, 30 something year old single mother, the golf and tennis club member and a bastion of middle class Docklands that beamed back from the beguiling glass of the full-length mirror looking, at best, an easy, good time girl or, with just a tad more imagination, a rather cheap whore about to go on parade? And that thrilled me, it played to my needs and desires, my imagination and the fantasy that had been gathering strength in my mind ever since I parted from Kevin and had my supply of sex curtailed.

It could well have been part of the fantasy or a particularly vivid dream that saw me wrap a long, black leather coat around me and call a cab. It could have all been in my mind as I climbed out just ten minutes later outside a drinking club in Bethnal Green. Yes I felt nervous. Yes I was concerned and worried about how it would go. Not worried for my safety for I was ok on that and accepted that some pain might be needed to fulfil my fantasy but more just what it would be like, how I’d feel and what it would do to my feelings and emotions.

As I walked slowly across the room to take a seat at the bar so my feelings began to explode. I saw lots of eyes following me as I undid the coat and let it drape down my back as I perched myself on the high stool. I saw mens’ eyes riveted on me as I lifted myself and locked one heel of the, almost, stiletto high heels in the rung between the legs of the stool. In a surprisingly calm voice I heard me ordering a dry white wine from the young waitress behind the bar. I was beginning to experience some of the feelings I’d imagined so often as I sat there knowing I was being ogled and possibly also spoken about amongst the, largely, male clientele. It wasn’t long before I was offered a drink that I declined or before a man asked if I was wait6ing for someone. I said I was and turned away.

It was getting toward 10.30 the time I knew from my fantasy research when many of the customers would move onto the clubs nearby and sure enough it started thinning out. I casually looked around and saw several couples, male and female, a few groups of men and several guys by themselves. In my fantasy or this new realit6y I looked each of the singles up and down when they were looking at the TV so they wouldn’t notice. One was in his forties At least and was immediately rejected along with another younger guy with ginger hair who was no more than 5 feet6 or so. I wondered if the fantasy was about to unravel when looking around slightly panicking I only saw two others and neither of them in any met the image I’d dreamed up during the long time I’d been thinking about it. And then I saw him. Coming out of the men’ room he was over six feet tall, nicely built with a shock of blondish hair. Fairly good looking, lthough that was of no real concern to me,I saw as he came closer walking past me that he could not have been more than 21 or so. Perfect I thought turning a little on the4 stall to follow where he went.

It was time. All the thought, the planning and the fantasising were about to come together. I tried to recall exactly how I’d imagined doing this as I’d laid in my b ed so many times masturbating about it. I tried to shake me head to see whether I might wake up and find that it had been a particularly vivid erotic dream. I tried to see if really I was in my home and that my imagination had gone into overdrive and all this was the fantasy and not the reality. But as I turned on the stall so that I could look directly at him it didn’t seem unreal for I could feel the unlined cheap plastic skirt on my bare bottom, slightly sticking to me. And as I saw him look straight at me the sudden pounding of my heart felt far from anything other than real. I caught his eye and I quickly looked away, taking a swig of my wine. Holding the glass to my lips I looked back and he was still looking at me. I held his gaze a moment and this time he looked away. I lit a cigarette averting my gaze from him as I did. But then with that in one hand and the drink in the other again held near to my lips I raised my eyes and caught his stare. I held his gaze looking deep into his eyes my pulse racing. I slipped my tongue out almost unconsciously and licked the rim of the glass, suggestively I thought.

Was I really doing this? Was this actually happening, at long, long last, I speculated or had my sex torn body corrupted my emotionally damaged mind so much that I could imagine this?

Still staring, now unashamedly at him, holding his look I slowly, so slowly crossed me legs. The feeling of the cheap, plastic, simulated leather skirt sliding up the net of the stockings seemed so real and surely I didn’t imagine the feeling of air on the skin slightly above the tops of the stockings. He was the only one left sitting in that area and I was shielded from the few other customers by the bar and sitting there my skirt now so far up my leg that I was sure he would be able to see the stocking tops. I looked into his eyes again and I saw him standing. He smiled at me and mouthed, “drink?” I shook my head slowly but smiled as I inclined it to one side towards the door.

Was I really easing myself off the stool and allowing the plastic to catch on the bar so that the hem rode up almost to my crotch? Surely I could not really be doing this? Exposing nearly all my legs to a man almost young enough to be my son in a public bar? I dropped my eyes as I stood and taking each side of the skirt in my hands I wiggled it down knowing that my breasts would jiggle beneath my b louse as my body moved. That done I looked at him again and made a meal of struggling into the coat realising that the material of the lacy blouse would be stretched across my breasts and that the front would gape so that through it a flash of white flesh would be on view to him. I knew what that would be like for I’d rehearsed that and the other moves so many times in front of my mirror and I wondered if perhaps I was now really in front of that mirror again and all else was purely imaginary. But was I imagining walking over to him, looking down and smiling? Was it in my mind that he stared at me a slight grin on his rather better looking face than I’d thought a\t first? It surely couldn’t be an illusion that I whispered, “follow me,” before turning and walking confidently to the door. And the footsteps I heard on the pavement were so loud and seemed so real that surely they were ‘t a fantasy were they?

“Hi,” I heard him say exactly as my imaginings had though he would as he drew alongside me, “may I walk with you?”

Now that hadn’t been in the plan. In the fantasy he didn’t speak after the “hi”. He said no more and we didn’t speak at all. “Is it ok if we talk? He asked confusing me for I hadn’t covered that in my planning. I had to quickly develop a contingency plan. Did that mean this had to be real? In the fantasy I controlled everything but now I wasn’t so perhaps I really was walking alongside him down Bethnal Green Road towards the narrow street I’d selected.

“No, you mustn’t talk,” I said not even looking up at him.

“Oh right,” he replied obviously confused. I said more so that told me that this may well have been real for in the fantasy I had never uttered even one word.

“You can walk with me. You can follow me, but you mustn’t talk to me.OK?” He didn’t speak for a moment so I stopped and turned towards him looking up into his eyes. He must have been well over six feet tall and he looked down at me as we squared up to each other. I held his gaze as I put one hand on my hip pulling the coat open as I did. I knew that the blouse was gaping and loose and I saw his eyes go to my cleavage. I was now operating completely off script and that somehow added to the fantasy (?).

His eyes roamed from my chest to my eyes quite confidently as he asked, “why not?”

I smiled running my tongue over my lips as I pondered on my answer. “Because,” I said smiling and pausing as I stared at him. This hadn’t happened in front of the mirror so I was on unsure ground. I moved closer holding the coat open by my hand on my hip. I stood like that now sure he’d be able to make out that I wasn’t wearing a bra for my nipples had gone as hard and as pronounced as acorns and the top button of the blouse had slipped undone so that he would be able to see the insides of both of my breast

He smiled and repeated, “because? Because what?”

The fantasy was now no help for this hadn’t been factored in. Reality has that habit of being stranger than fiction. I plunged on into the unchartered waters.

“Because, “ I said quite firmly, “if you want to fuck me that’s the only way you’ll get to do “

I looked at him as I tilted my head to one side waiting for his response hopin gagainst hope that he wouldn’t turn me down and make me go through the whole thing again.

“You mean if I don’t talk to you I can have sex with you?” he asked blushing and looking both very young and oddly appealing.

“Exactly,” I replied.

“Er, um, “ he stammered, “is there a charge?”

That made me smile for I had seen that happening in the fantasy.“No,” I said adding as a joke, “I won’t pay you, all I want is for you to stay silent and then you can have me. Ok?”

He got the message and nodded which again made me smile as he’d obviously cottoned on.

My imagination or my memory from checking out the streets during my late night sorties took us down the gloomy back streets just behind the very busy main road until we came to the warehouse I’d selected. In the dreaming about this I’d wandered confidently into the big doorway, like a porch really. Inside that it ran for about twenty or thirty feet until on the left there was an alcove tucked away so that if anyone came past the main doorway they wouldn’t be able to see into it. With the young man beside me my stride wasn’t as jaunty as in the vivid imaginings I’d had about it. No as we walked into the doorway and then into the alcove that had a dim light thrown onto it from inside the warehouse that I knew was deserted at nights, I didn’t feel quite the confidence I’d thought I would. But I felt excited, expectant and really quite in awe of myself.

For a woman that had found it almost impossible to have casual sex after her marriage break up for fear of becoming dependent on a man this fantasy had been the perfect alternative. For one that had tried having sex with a number of partners that had wined and dined her until her resistance had weakened to the point she’d let them into her knickers to then find that such sex, sex without an emotional involvement as well, was unsatisfactory, this type sex appeared to be the answer. To have sex where there was absolutely nothing else involved and where she was in control represented to her somewhat mangle mind the logical way. The fantasy had started as the frustration had become so hard to endure. As her body ached for a man. As her need grew to enormous proportions. But she was constrained by this emotional hang up. And that had made her, well me really, start thinking and fantasising. Fantasising so often about some of the more outrageous feelings concerned with sex, feelings and thoughts she’d never had before and would never have thought she would have. Thoughts like being completely demeaned, degraded and debased. Of being treated like a whore, a slag, a slut. Of being mentally and physically mistreated, abused and made to act and feel so wanton, perverse and just plain dirty. Yes I was aware that it was some psychological damage from the break up but that didn’t help. I wanted to be treated like that and in all the many lonely hours I spent so more and more I had started living a fantasy life. But now that was maybe becoming reality for the perimeters of both were fading and where one ended and the other began was all blurry.

It was like that, blurry and unclear, as I turned, leaned back against the wall and looked at the boy. He was clearly nervous and unsure. Little did he know that I was just the same but I knew that he wouldn’t realise that and it certainly didn’t show as I reached up and took the lapels of the thin lacy blouse in my hands his eyes from no more than a foot or so away taking in every move. I stared into them as slowly I increased the pressure on the material. I saw them widen as he looked, presumably trying to see my breasts that by now were aching to be touched or sucked. They were riveted on my hands as my fingers dug into the thin material gripping each lapel tightly. And I heard him gasp and saw him blink in disbelief as with one quick firm pull I ripped the blouse open, two buttons, just as they had in my rehearsals, popping off. I thrust myself forward a little my bare breasts learing beckoningly at him as he watched open eyed and open mouthed.

He took me in his arms and went to kiss me but that was taboo and I averted my mouth instead pushing his face down towards the fiery nipples that were pulsating on each breast. His mouth sucked greedily at the extended buds as I felt his erection through his thin trousers. I rubbed it and slid his zip down. Fumbling momentarily with his boxers and the tail of his shirt I felt the sensation of the strangers bare cock in my hand and I knew that the reality was going to be very bit as satisfying as had been the fantasy.

His hands and mouth were all over my breasts, just as they had been when I lived this moment so many times alone, but then it had been my hands. Then mine had squeezed, almost painfully, the swollen nipples that he now pinched, it was my own that had so gratifyingly squeezed the pliantly sensitive mounds and mine that had pushed them together into one large mound just as he did.

But it wasn’t tender or even energetic foreplay I wanted. That implied a degree of concern for the other, a wish to please and slowly arouse. I didn’t want or need that. It wasn’t in the fantasy or in my mind as I’d laid on my bed rubbing my body to climax. No this fantasy was about hard, raw, uncomplicated and quick fast sex. A fuck in a dirty doorway. An almost animalsitc coupling where I got exactly what I wanted and that was sexual satisfaction brought about by being treated as and acting like a whore with a complete stranger with whom I don’t even talk.

I undid his belt and pushed his trousers and boxers down parting the tail of his shirt so I could feel and see him. He was quite large, nicely smooth and fairly long but slim and very, very hard. Just as I’d imagined such a young stud should be. I stroked it and rubbed it and then still holding it with one hand I pulled my skirt up with the other. I watched his eyes as the hem slid up my thighs, as it passed the dark band of the stocking tops, as it slid across the patch of white skin that normally seperated the top of stockings from the panties. His eyes widened again though as that patch just went on and on and he realised that there were no panties. The skirt was now bunched around my waist, my pubic hairs glistening with the juices that had flown from me from the moment we’d left the bar. I pulled him closer and fumbled a condom onto his penis as I slid that between my legs. He continued playing with my breasts, that felt about set to explode with the pent up agony of sexual frustration, and then with one shove he was in me. The feeling was exactly as the fantasy had said it would be. I grunted as he surged up me and as he started fucking me. It was good, it was exciting, thrilling and satisfying. And then quickly, just as I’d fantasised, he was cumming. I didn’t climax. That wasn’t really the plan. Orgasm portrayed pleasure and an emotional connection. No I didn’t need that. That would come later when I was alone reliving these moments.